I couldn't bear another day working with Toad. Waking up that early in the morning was utterly inhuman. If that wasn't bad enough, I was subjected to hours of his inane "comedy" radio shows and his psychotic rants about moderation in drug use-- all the while guzzling gallons of vodka and Mountain Dew. Things turned even worse when the Gulf War started. We had two types of customers who came in and sprinkled their two cents worth on the war.
The first set were enraged they had to pay more than a dollar fifty for gas. I was never really certain whether Toad believed a single word he said or if he just liked to argue with people, no matter how insane the position. Those who complained about the price of gas were first reminded that people in Europe have long been paying exorbitant prices for fuel and that we should consider ourselves lucky. In fact, Toad argued, Americans have been paying far too little for gasoline. That would usually end the discussion, unless it was an old man - as the day shift customers often were. Old men who had fought in World War II or Vietnam especially would argue with Toad for hours without paying a care in the world to the fact that I was handling every other customer who decided to swamp the place whenever Toad was on his soap-box.
The second set of customers who liked to debate the war with Toad were the war supporters. They got the greatest rise from Toad, who was a hippie down to the very core. I picked up on this quickly and used it to send Toad a rant that would make Charles Manson look sane. I've never seen a human face turn such a deep shade of purple as when I would tell Toad we should dump our entire nuclear arsenal on the whole of the middle east - thus solving at least fifty percent of the world's problems. Germany was another point of interest. Since the owners of the station and I had German last names, Toad was convinced some sort of conspiracy was going on behind the pumps. My claims that we should have let Germany goosestep into the Middle East and solve the problem for us sent his blood pressure soaring to heights I never would have believed .
But now I was back on the night shift with the drug dealers, cute girls and nocturnal weirdos . Josh was working only weekends, so I was mostly teamed up with Roy. Roy was in his second year of college - the same school I would be attending in the fall. He played soccer which surprised me, because he didn't really strike me as the jock type. We got along well, since he liked to write and was interested in astronomy and things of a philosophical nature. We often hung out at the park near the river getting high, reading our writings to each other and talking about problems that interested us - problems of consciousness, order in chaos, the flow of time and the ultimate questions of the universe. It was a far cry from Shafto's inane babble, Toad's psychotic rantings, Travis'sexually obsessed tendencies and Willie's shotguns and tormented pit-bulls.
Roy had a girlfriend named Sky. She had long, straight hair and was rather thin and pale, which I attributed to her vegetarianism. Sky's hippy leanings could be somewhat annoying, but I generally found her to be pleasant company and she was as easy to talk to as Roy was. Though, I could have done without her turning off the television whenever she stopped by the station to visit. She didn't seem to understand that we weren't watching it to learn anything or out of any particular interest - we simply liked to make fun of whatever garbage happened to be spewing through the airwaves.
Roy had a friend named Aaron who took over my spot on the day shift. Aaron wasn't the most strong-willed person I'd ever met so I figured he would probably get along perfectly with Toad. Aaron was part Native American-- tall with curly black hair. He had some sort of condition that caused his eyes to protrude out further than they should, making him look like he was always making faces at people. Some would call him out on it.
As it turned out, this was just the change I needed. My regular coworkers weren't taking acid constantly, though they did dabble in it from time to time, and none of them were addicted to opiates. I felt like I had been trudging through a dark swamp and finally found solid land. There I stood, under the clear evening sky admiring the stars twinkling playfully down at me. There was hope in that starlight, as though it was made of that same dust that had colored the sky that beautiful summer day when I was twelve. Something was on the horizon. I could feel it. Maybe it was college I was seeing - propelling me to heights nobody ever thought I could reach. Maybe it was something else. Whatever it was, I could feel it inside me. A mixture of calm and hope and happiness.
Real happiness. I had been off of opiates long enough that I could feel the real thing again. No more did I have to control my emotions with pills. They came from inside now. This was what it was like to be healthy.
And so, I spent the evenings at the station telling Roy and Sky about my love affair with morphine and other opiates and how I'd taken enough acid to kill a whale. I'd still smoke a joint with them - since I was a master at rolling them - or drink a beer, but the hard drugs were behind me.
"So, what are you planning on taking in college anyway, dude?"
"I dunno. I think philosophy. Maybe math, just because it's the hardest subject for me. But, with the experience I have with computers - it would probably be my easiest ticket to a career."
"You should think about writing, man. Fuck that computer shit. I see how it got you through a bunch of shit, but is that really how you want to spend your life?"
Roy was making a convincing argument and the truth was, I was quickly losing interest in computers.
Sky sat on the safe with her legs crossed and her head cocked the side, so that her hair dangled near the floor, "You're way too creative for that. Get into some sort of art program."
"Art doesn't really pay the bills though."
"Would you rather live rich and miserable or broke and happy... happy with yourself."
"I suck at art anyway."
"Not writing. I've read your writing. There are people published out there now who are shit compared to you. You have a lot to say, Darren. I see it behind those brown eyes. You've just spent so many years hiding it from your father and stepfathers, you've lost sight of it. Think about it."
"Okay, Sky. I'll think about it."
Our conversation was interrupted by a blue Skylark on the far island, "Oh Goddamnit."
Roy looked outside, not seeing anything of concern, "Ms. Whipple. Out there in the Skylark."
Sky's eyes brightened even more, if that was possible, "Didn't she teach English at the highschool?"
"Yeah, that's her, dude."
Sky followed me outside as I approached Ms. Whipple's window, "Hi there."
"Fill it up please and check the oil."
Goddamnit,
I started the gasoline and pried opened the rusty old hood, holding it up with my head. I could feel the thick glops of oil-soaked foam embedding themselves in my hair.
"Hi Ms. Whipple! Remember me? Sky? I had your creative writing class last year."
"Oh yes, how are you, dear?"
Ms. Whipple's tone was so sweet it was giving me a cavity.
"Oh, just getting ready for college."
"Have you decided what you're going to study?"
"I was thinking of taking up writing. Or teaching. Or maybe teaching writing. Because of you. You did more for me than any other teacher in that school."
Ms. Whipple put her hand on Sky's cheek, "What a dear thing to say. I wish you all the best."
I slammed the hood of the car, with bits of foam snowing from my hair, "Your oil's fine. So, that's fifteen in gas."
Ms. Whipple handed me a twenty and told me to keep the change. I should keep Sky around more often.
As we walked back the office, I told Sky of the Ms. Whipple curse. Though, I could tell Sky and Roy things I couldn't tell others. As annoying as it was to get Ms. Whipple's greasy foam in my hair, something still made me feel sorry for her. Something deep down and intangible. Like a shadow you could only see out of the corner of your eye.
"Be nice to her. She's lonely you know. She only has a few cats - no boyfriends, never married. Her parents are dead. I don't even think she has any friends. She devotes her life to teaching. I owe her a lot."
Another illusion shattered. First that rotten Johnny Gladstone gets cancer and now Ms. Whipple turns out to be a human being. What would be next? The Metro Baptist guy would actually pay me to save my soul?
The night was drawing to a close. It had been filled with revelations, personal insights and discussions about things that I thought only I liked to talk about. As we brought in the trash cans and air hose and locked the pumps, Roy pulled me aside.
"Hey, man. They're having the Cajun festival at the Art Institute this weekend. Sky has a friend - she's really nice. She's a knockout too..."
"She's pretty and nice? I smell a rat, dude."
"Well, her mom died about a year ago. She's still kinda ate up about that. She hasn't dated anyone since. Come on, dude, give her a chance."
"Yeah, man, that's cool. It's not like I have anything better to do. I just hope you appreciate I'm giving up a hot night with Sung and a computer for this."
"Well, I'll try not to let you down. Bring some clothes with you to work - we'll be leaving from here. And if you could pick up some beer, that would be totally cool."
"No problem, dude."
"What's this chick's name, anyway?"
"Tracy."
Posted by DevilMonkey at 9:30 PM